


Crier dans le vide

by Emrize_cryingpiano



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, How Do I Tag, Inspired by Music, Music, Piano, Purple Hyacinth Season 01-02 Hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29183424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emrize_cryingpiano/pseuds/Emrize_cryingpiano
Summary: "Life became dull and repetitive. The very idea of continuing was annoying. The very idea of continuing to mount this theater, where he played a very convincing role, deprived him of air in his lungs""When he was little, he believed that he would always live like this, that he would have his older brother with him all his life and that nothing would ever be ruined. When we are little we always believe that the world will stay as it is, and that everything is wonderful,  because we live on our little planet of love and joy. But the real world, lacks those two sources of illusion, the real world is sick and selfish. You discover it when you grow up "
Relationships: William Hawkes & Kym Ladell, William Hawkes & Lauren Sinclair, William Hawkes/Kym Ladell
Kudos: 16





	Crier dans le vide

**Author's Note:**

> Alert for depression, PTSD, suicidal thoughts, toxic relationships, anxiety and a lot of sadness. If you don't like reading this kind of thing, please drop this:) Purple hyacinth is pain and anxiety so I guess most will continue: D
> 
> This is my first serious fanfiction, I hope you enjoy it :) In some places, there are "Start ..." prompts indicating that a song or piece of music is starting to play. It is not essential, but I have already read it several times with and without music, and the feelings are very different :( Preferably, put them while you read, as if it were the canonical comic.
> 
> This is somewhere in the first season, but Mr. Hawkes already told Will about the Darcy girl. William is just getting close to Kym, and from all he knows, Rafael is dead. If you want to put it on the timeline, it goes roughly between episodes 25-29
> 
> Everything I wrote, is my perspective of how William feels, you don't have to agree with everything, this was just my interpretation of his sadness :)
> 
> I also apologize for the lousy writing, English is not my first language, so it's up to what reading comics and watching subtitled movies has helped me :))

____"Moonlight Sonata 1st Movement" starts playing ______

It was near sunset, William was sitting at his desk, writing a report. On the day's patrol, there was an assault on a nearby bank. The guys of the patrol unit were calming some civilians that were in a street fight, and William was afraid he couldn't manage to handle this.

Luckily, Kym was there with him and helped to arrest the gunman, ensuring that no one was hurt. He didn't know he could team up with her like that until that day, and he was glad they did something right together after so long of getting along and fighting over everything.

When he arrived at the police station, the other officers were proud of his efficiency, they all told him what a good lieutenant he was, and that it was time for him to get a promotion. Despite the compliments and congratulations, William was not in the mood this day. It was not the fault of others, no. It was something he just didn't like.

When the others flattered him, William felt uncomfortable. He stopped an assault. Wasn't that what any cop would have done? It was what anyone with a hat, jacket, pistol and title of lieutenant from the 11th precinct would have done instead when faced with an assault: stop it. Why did being a good example suddenly bother him? Ahh, he was being irrational about this.

He finished the report, emphasizing the valuable participation of his coworkers in the activities that day and continued with his endless pile of paperwork and ...

Lost in his thoughts, he realized how things had changed.

How quickly time went by. That he had spent most of his adolescent life locked up at home, playing, studying, or caring for his sick mother, and the time he spent outside was lost in classes or one of those superficial parties at which the son of the Chief of police had to attend because he was the son of the chief of police.

That most of his adult life was doing the same thing, that he had a career out of something he really didn't want, that he was pursuing goals that were already there before he could be aware of it and that he definitely didn't. wanted to continue.

That those compliments had not only been received at the police station, the teachers at his school had also done something like that, when he had a perfect rate; his dance instructors, when he spent the whole night practicing the steps for parties; the comrades of his father, rich men with no interest in anything other than his social position and the money they attracted from his business; the girls of the school, when they declared their love for him because besides being rich, he was the image of perfection.

"You are a perfect boy" they said.  
"You always do the right thing" they said.  
"You are always so successful and polite" "Everything the Hawkes boy does is perfect" "I like the way you are because you are kind and helpful, and you are never wrong about anything" "How come you always do everything this well, and you never fail in what you propose? "

His whole life was a lie. His entire personality, his actions, his work, his tastes, and his topics of conversation with strangers were a falsehood.

A few days ago, his father ordered him to stop speaking in public with Lauren Sinclair, his childhood friend; because of that mistake she had made in the interrogatory a year ago. Now, he was ignoring her. Lauren didn't judge him, she understood his situation and gave him her support. As much as Will blamed himself, he had no choice. It was not appropriate for William to have problematic friendships. It was not appropriate for Will to disobey.

It was not the first time (and certainly not the last) that his father decided what was best for him. He always got this way, choosing from what to dine at night, how he should sit or what to do on days off to who he talked to, what he was going to study, or who he would marry.

Life became dull and repetitive. The very idea of continuing was annoying. The very idea of continuing to mount this small theater, where he played a very convincing role, deprived him of air in his lungs.

There was a strange tension between his father and everyone. He was an authoritarian man who liked to rule wherever he was. He was an army graduate and former chief of police, so he had a strong character and sense of "duty"; but he sometimes became a bit controlling and William felt absorbed by it.

He wondered lately what would become of his life if Rafael were here, if he had not been the sole heir and if he had not been the one who carried all the responsibilities of the family on his shoulders.

He wondered what it would feel like to be free. What would it be like to be himself. Who he really was? Who was under that shell of lies and things that were considered correct? 

How he would like to be able to scream in front of someone, do whatever he wants and not have any ties to his family! Get up wanting to start the day with joy, and enjoy his work. A job that he would like to do and a job he had chosen. 

The workday ended, and he felt faint. How much longer would he hold out? At this rate, he didn't know when he was going to break down. He felt like a prisoner. He needed to escape from this. He needed to break free.

Long sleepless nights showed in his eyes. Also sadness and the weight of responsibilities. That look of pain, it was a look that no one could see, because when it appeared, he was quick to replace it with a smug look, which said "I am the firstborn of the Hawkes, and I am going to be successful" and hid everything he have always felt to never be exposed in front of anyone.

It was no wonder he didn't have so many friends.

There were things that not many knew about him, and probably because of this some found him boring.

He thought about some of the things that were bothering him these days.

His mother was ill. Mother was going to die in a few months. 

That had him devastated.

He wondered why, being rich, with a good position and family; they could not find a single doctor who could give them an explanation for his deteriorating health. Why did his mother have to get sick, of all people?

His mother was the only one who was always with him, who had supported him in his bad times and his personal goals, contrary to his father; who said that his dreams were nonsense and who minimized his emotions.

He withdrew from the police station and started on his way home. On the way he bumped into a couple enjoying the sunset. How long has he not done it? He remembered the smile of his mother yelling at him by his name to enter the house because it was getting dark, and Rafael playing some Sonata on the piano before they all went to sleep.

They were such good times, he wished he had more of those days, and valued them back then.

When he was little he believed that he would always live like this, that he would have his older brother with him all his life and that nothing was ever going to be ruined. When we are little we always believe that the world will stay as it is, and that everything is wonderful, because we live on our little planet of love and joy. But the real world lacks those two sources of illusion, the real Word is sick and selfish. You discover it when you grow up.

"If we have each other, everything will be fine. I'm not going anywhere. Not now, nor ever."

There were the words that he said to him a few weeks before that tragedy, that tragedy that took everything away for many families, and that even if William did not die there, he would have preferred to.

Death was seen as a state in which he could finally feel good. He was fed up. He was exploding. He couldn't go on. He couldn't be that perfect person any longer. What was holding him back? Why was he still there? Maybe it was because of his mother, because of Rafael's memory or because of fear of being completely alone.

He tried to avoid the fact that he already was alone. That he had already broken everything inside him and forged towering walls that he wouldn't break because he was too cowardly to try.

He wished he could make that damn nightmare end now. And he could. He could take his mother's pill bottles and get in all at once, he could grab his gun and give himself a good headshot, he could jump off the bridge in a moment that no one would see, he could take a dagger and stab himself. He could do any of those things at any time. Unlike everything else, doing this would be his decision. When or how.

He was a hypocrite. How he talked to everyone. How he thought about politics, about the government, about family money, that he wanted to be a police chief, that he was interested in dances and luxuries. 

None of what he said was his real opinion, and he lied to keep up appearances. So that his family would be happy.

It was funny that what he wanted the most right now was to disappear and never come home, and he was still walking towards her. 

______

As soon as he entered the mansion, he began to run, crossed the room quickly and climbed the steps to the living room, before even seeing his mother or bumping into a servant employee. The routine was choking him. He was desperate to vent the anger that he carried in his heart so as not to start screaming and doing things that he might regret. He sat at the piano, and stared at it for a moment, which seemed like a very long time. Finally, he took a deep breath, cleared his throat and began to play. To play in a violent and shameless way, a way to vent.

_______"Piano etude op. 10 no. 12" Chopin start playing_______

He liked music. Even before his older brother left. He had always been a fan of music. The way he expressed his ideas through the notes, the tones that reflected moods and that he could use to show emotions based on what came out of him. He released how free he felt to play.

His piano was something that brought his peace, it was something that helped him stay on his feet. He realized it, because in the darkest days, it was his only comfort. He spent hours, many hours studying sheet music that he found in the mansion library, discovering new composers and works and trying to muffle his thoughts of death or abandonment, of self-hatred and the desire to leave everything.

He had other hobbies, of course. He liked to read, he liked to Cook, he liked to write verses in the darkness of his room.

But in those moments when he wishes he didn't exist, in those moments when he thought that life was not worth it, that he felt so miserable and pathetic; His piano, his beloved piano, was the only one he could turn to for advice. Or at least to let go of what affected him so much. He felt better after that. Or worse. He didn't really know it but he still did.

It was so curious how he played explosive music to stop thinking about misfortune. To distract himself from her. It was so curious how that perfect face, how that kind and studious boy, always proving to be a prodigy and being successful; was hiding so much pain that it could only be expressed by means of a piece of wood with ivory keys and strings inside.

He pressed the keys, now with more force and passion than before. His eyebrows furrowed, and his gaze on the instrument radiated fire. The notes played by him expressed the storm inside him very well, however calm he actually looked on the outside on normal days. The indirect melody was so powerful, so strong. 

He played the pedals fluently, to give better nuance to his performance. From time to time he closed his eyes on some passage that he especially enjoyed.

He wished it were that simple, agile and sincere to talk to people. Words had never been useful to him. He only managed to circle his own thoughts and end up entangling and contradicting his ideas, and he was embarrassed when he had to say something that he had not planned in advance. His personal opinions were a mystery. In fact, it wasn't like he was talking about them with anyone. Not even with his childhood friend, the closest company to him, with whom he couldn't talk much anymore.

He couldn't really open up to anyone, even if he wanted to. He felt a lump in his throat every time something of his own was exposed or something was mentioned about him that suggested that there was something else that he did not speak or show to everyone.

When the others asked him about his problems or concerns, he always closed everything with a "I'll handle it" and said nothing, leaving everyone wanting to hear something else ... Something of his own.

They ended up getting bored with his presence and left him.

Little did they really know about him.

He couldn't handle it. No more time. Not now, that his mother was getting worse and that his father told him that she was arranging a marriage with him and a "Darcy girl", whom he did not know.

Not now that the weight of the world was bearing down on him and he had a strong desire for self destruction. Now that running away seemed such a good thing to be true, where having an opinion and not feeling judged would be impossible. If he wanted to live, he had to do something, he had to be free, he had to let go of that weight, he had to be able to fly, but he couldn't.

He had his wings clipped since that fateful day his older brother dropped him off at the train station. In which one of the few people who listened to him left forever. In which his fate was sealed and his wishes and illusions went overboard. Everything was ruined ...

Everything was horrible. Fuck keeping composure! His breathing became agitated and it was difficult for him to continue playing the piece as it went. He lowered the intensity a bit and then slowly raised it again. He reached his climax, both emotional and musical, and finished off with a couple of chords.

At the end of the piece, he was trembling, he could not get enough fury, even with how expressive this was.

He thought about his life. Oh, god. His life was not expressive, he was always restricted, he was always following orders from someone he believed to be his puppet and moved at his whim. And instead of continuing with the piece that he had in mind and had been studying, he started to play random chords, whatever he was entertaining enough to stop thinking.

"As if I could ever do what I please. As if playing the piano all night was enough to hold me back one more day. As if this made any sense."

He heard a nice sound. A chord progression that made him smile.

He played these chords again until he found the way they sounded cutest. A faint glow spread across his off face, he breathed in again and began to play.

________"William's Theme" start playing________ 

It wasn't just random chords, it was more than that. It was the tranquility. It was how he believed tranquility would feel. The assurance that everything was fine and that he didn't need to pretend anything. C minor. He liked the pieces in that tonality.

-Etude op. 10 no. 12  
-5th symphony  
-Piano sonata no. 8 "pathétique"  
-A song from a secret garden  
-Distance 

They were some of the pieces that helped him relax and avoid fooling around when he was upset, and which he greatly admired.

All in C minor

Accommodating his thoughts, he began to play a melody that he didn't know where he had heard before. Maybe he had been listening to it in his head and had sung it in his mind when he was away from his piano, he wasn't sure.

What was this he was feeling? If this grouping of notes was not depressing, why did the tears begin to flow from his eyes? Why was he thinking about the good times he had once experienced? Was this a goodbye? Was it an omen? Did he feel terribly off? He, somehow already knew the answer to these questions and ... It brought him down greatly.

That beautiful song ... he felt like hugging his mother, like when Rafael taught him to play the piano, or like when he played with Lauren in the backyard of her house.

It felt like that joy and desire to live he has forgotten, buried deep within his soul, so far away that he couldn't even visualize himself feeling the same in the future.

He felt the heat of a kiss on the forehead when you have nightmares. Like a sigh of love.

All the hustle and bustle, brought the good thoughts to Will's mind. Hey, he didn't always suffer, not everything was so bad. A few days ago he had been getting close to Kym Ladell, whom he did not tolerate one bit, and he was comforted to know that she didn't hate him.

She actually told him that she considered him a friend. But William was cautious and he was not going to get excited about anything. Even if he had any feelings out there, he was already committed to someone else and couldn't afford any luxury for it, nor hope.

He found himself thinking about those hazel eyes, which caught him off guarda… he was quick to dismiss the finding.

How would he like to be that book character who leaves his life to start a new one, that Rose De Wit Bukater who abandons her last name and her arranged marriage to work and fend for herself, to be independent and above all, happy. That Sophie Hatter who moves to a moving castle that, still looking like an old woman, restores her youth and falls in love with the wizard that inhabits it. That Raoul de Chagny who breaks with what is expected of him and launches himself for the love of Christine Daaé. That Mtr. Darcy who ignores his aunt and asks for Elizabeth Bennett's hand. That Mary Lennox who ignores Mrs. Medlock and finds the secret garden.

Many more examples crossed his mind. Many possibilities.

Maybe escaping is a solution to his problems.

No, escaping would only deny the problems and give them to someone else who is not guilty.

He doesn't know how but he is going to find a good consolation that will help him to continue resisting. He can do it. He has to. He needs to do it.

He is going to do it. He's just going to think a bit and calm down. He will only look for a solution and eventually he will succeed.

Now he tries to feel calm, he wants to feel that what surrounds him is less horrible and that tonight he will not have trouble sleeping. That the next day, his mother will begin to remember him and that he is going to recover from that mysterious illness.

Now he thinks about the beauty that still surrounds his life. The nature that he encounters on his way to the campus, the cute couples that he sees passing through the streets and who sit and chat in the cafes, the boys who chat on the way home after a hard day at school.

He is free, up to a point. Free to dream and yearn. He believed that his father could take everything away from him. And there was the mistake. He could not take away the illusion, because as long as he was sensitive to art, beauty and love, nothing was lost.

As long as he knew that this ability to feel was his, and no one else's, he could resist as long as necessary.

Once again, William Hawkes found salvation in art, he had a catharsis where he managed to connect with himself and reconsider those suicidal ideas that plagued his mind in secret. He would not. He never will to ... Never...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading, sorry if it was very bad, I hope you liked it. God, I know a nice ending would be nice, but in real life, you can't find someone to comfort you, it's the great thing about Purple hyacinth, it's very realistic.
> 
> ✨Thanks✨


End file.
